Saintlike Sins
by Miss Weirdy
Summary: This story follows a 19 year old nun, Charlotte, when Paris is under siege by the unrelenting Judge Claude Frollo. Being adopted by a monk in Notre Dame as a newborn, she is very protective of her church- her home- but she finds that she has to team up with the most unlikely of companions in order to retain the peace she desires.
1. Prologue

Alright, this is my first ever Fan Fiction. I have many ideas for fan-fic stories some which have been stewing in my head for the past 4 years or so.

Summary: This story follows a 19 year old nun, Charlotte, when Paris is under siege by the unrelenting Judge Claude Frollo. Being adopted by a monk in Notre Dame as a newborn, she is very protective of her church- her home- but she finds that she has to team up with the most unlikely of companions in order to retain the peace she desires.

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Chapter One: Prologue

Rain viciously pounded on the empty cobble stone streets of Paris, as an icy wind howled through the alleys. Fortunately, the city slept comfortably (or as comfortably as one was able, in some conditions) in their beds; sheltered from the harsh weather. But, in the seemingly barren roads and onto the steps of Notre Dame, a young woman clutching at her bloated belly in pain and soaked by the cold cruel showers, appeared; slipping and stumbling, in desperate need of help.

This young woman was Miriam Pike, one of the barkeeper's daughters, whom was also a town wench. This career choice was hardly decided by her, but by her mother, Noel. She had been in the third generation of Paris whores, and when she had conceived little Miriam out of wedlock, she luckily was able to be married before news of her sinful pregnancy became public. A woman of tradition, she wanted her female children to continue their family business as France's finest ladies of the night.

Miriam, who was not particularly pleased with the arranged occupation (but left with no other option), carried out the legacy of her mothers before her. But she had made a fatal mistake- she had fallen in love with a customer, and in the process, became pregnant with his child. The man was already married, and once it was learned his lover was pregnant, he refused to have anything to do with her and the bastard child; denying their affair and his paternity. Though many were aware of her occupational status, prostitution was a job with a mutual agreement that it was acceptable so long as it was not a public affair. After seeing the young, pregnant woman roaming Paris without a man on her arm, she was shunned by the community.

She was now a street urchin. Her parents had thrown her out indefinitely for 'soiling' the family name, and she had nowhere to go. Sometimes she found herself camping with some gypsies on the out skirts of town; most times, she could only find refuge in a covered alley way. However, there was a place she knew she could stay and live in more optimal conditions- the church, Notre Dame. But after being so cast aside from the people she loved, she wanted nothing to do with God or religion. She knew her prayers had always gone on deaf ears. Her life only proceeded to get harder. She was alone.

But on this stormy night, she has broken her inward vow to seek help in high places.

"_Soleil…_" Miriam murmured to herself in incoherence as she crawled up the final step and slumped herself against the large oak doors. With all the strength she had, she pounded on the hard wood, hoping to be allowed inside.

"Sanctuary!...Please.."

This desperate call caught the attention of a monk taking a midnight stroll in the cathedral, who had been unable to rest. Concerned, he set down his lantern and cautiously walked towards the entrance until he heard a small, squishy thump from behind it. He immediately opened a door to find the sopping wet girl lying at his feet, her face twisted with pain.

"Oh, good Lord! Come with me, dear girl." The monk said, helping her up and directing her out of the bitter cold.

"_Soleil?..."_ Miriam murmured again looking at a lantern on a pew that the monk had been carrying with him.

"Sun? Alright, now lie down right here," Said the monk, dismissing the odd remark and carefully helping her onto a pew to lie down. He removed his brown cloak and draped it over her clammy goose skin. "What is your name?"

"Mir…iam…" She breathed between jolts of pain. "P-please… help… baby…"

"Baby?" The monk questioned in confusion. And then he finally noticed her large protruding belly. This woman was about to give birth.

The monk swallowed, did a quick sign of the cross for strength, and pulled up his cloak and her waterlogged skirts over her legs to reveal her abdomen. Between her legs, he saw something large, round, and a purplish red peeking out. _That must be the head,_ he deducted. "Miriam, I need you to push- the baby is starting to come out."

Miriam, red faced and screaming in effort, pushed with the little strength she had. The monk, unsure of the proper way to successfully deliver a child, gently tugged at the baby's head hoping it would help to get out faster. The head was now fully emerged, and the shoulders were starting to appear.

"Miriam, push!" he encouraged.

And with an ear shattering screech, a squelch of mucus and blood, and a high pitched wail, a new life was brought into the world.

"It's a girl, _Madame_!" He cheered in relief, glad to see the baby came out appearing to be unharmed. He pulled a small dagger from his boot and carefully cut the cord attaching the baby to her mother. He then wiped the child down with his robe that had covered Miriam; cleaning off the bits of bloody membrane that covered her newborn body and swaddled her tightly in the soiled brown fabric.

He walked up to the exhausted woman- who breathed short, shallow breaths- and presented her with the child.

"_Ma_," Miriam started, choking on her own spit. "_Ma_…._Soleil_…"

Miriam gave a weak smiled and slowly shut her glazed over eyes, and her pale body went limp. He no longer saw the rise and fall of her chest.

The monk leaned over her still form checking for any sign of life, but she had passed on. He stared sadly at the dead woman; who, he found, was quite lovely. It looked as though she was sleeping after a turbulent day. Finally at rest.

"_Soleil_…" He repeated.

"What in Heaven's name is going on down here?" called a flustered archdeacon to the monk, hurrying towards him. "I heard screaming-"

But he was cut off at the sight of the dead woman, the blood soaked pew, and the fussing baby in George's arms. Seeing the surprise in the archdeacon's face, he explained the situation and what had happened.

"What should we do with the child?" George asked, breaking the awkward silence.

"I believe we should keep her in the church until someone would be willing to take her in as their own." The archdeacon answered. But he knew it was very unlikely she would be adopted under the circumstances of her birth.

The monk stared at the newborn. She slept soundly in his arm, a string of drool dripping from her mouth onto his sleeve. He felt a dam in his mind crumble, and a flood of love for the baby began to drown his heart.

"I'll take her," He declared, keeping his eyes on the child. "I understand I will no longer be a legitimate monk, but I would really like to continue my journey as I raise this child. I feel as though God has sent her to me for a reason."

"Very well. I will let you stay in the church with the child, but you cannot join the monks. Making one exception can create chaos and corruption between you and the others if they are denied theirs. You will have to finish your quest for enlightenment on your own." The archdeacon replied.

"I understand," George whispered with remorse.

Then it struck it him- the little bundle of joy hadn't yet received a name.

"Soleil," He said aloud.

The archdeacon looked at him with confusion.

"That's what she had kept saying… I think that should be her name."

"Strange, yet sentimental- I like it." Chuckled the archdeacon.

"How about Soleil Charlotte? My mother's name was Charlotte," Added George, enthusiastic to give her a name of his creation.

"This shall be an interesting child- I am curious to see her grow up!" Laughed the deacon. "You are a man of many talents, George, but naming is certainly not your forte! Now come, let us go back to bed. The sun will rise in a few hours, and then we will find her a nurse."

And so, Soleil Charlotte's life began. But the decisions she would make in nineteen years would change it all.

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Thank you so much for reading! I will only continue if I receive reviews or favorites.

A/N: For those of you who may not have caught it, '_soleil_' (pronounced 'so-lay') means sun.


	2. Not a Fool

A/N: I got a review and about 4 favorites, so I'm going to keep at it. I just don't to write a story people may not be reading.

I would still like more reviews, because they inspire me to continue. I'm having a lot of fun writing this, and I want to make sure you are having fun reading this.

Critiques are WELCOME.

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Chapter 2: Not a Fool

The bells of Notre Dame echoed through the nunnery at dawn, waking all those whom had taken their solemn vows of eternal service to God and their community.

Soleil Charlotte slowly opened her round hazel eyes, squinting at the appearance of light. A couple of her sisters were already out of bed and dressing in their habits.

She yawned and slid off her cot, the cold stone floor shocking her feet awake. She quickly tiptoed to the wardrobe in the left corner of the room, grabbed her habit and a thick pair of woolen socks. She sat and quickly pulled on the socks to protect her feet from the freezing ground, then walked behind a changing screen and peeled off her night dress and changed into her uniform. Once she was dressed in her robes, she picked up her veil and walked up to the looking glass. She set down the veil on an old wooden side table. She opened the single drawer beneath the hard wood, pulled out a horse hair brush and combed through her dull, dry hair.

Soleil Charlotte was not an extraordinary beauty, but by no means ugly. She had a long, soft, oval face; a skinny pert nose, and a small mouth with light, rosy lips. Short curly bangs swept across her forehead, with long dirty blonde straw-like tresses dusting the middle of her back. Her eyes were a dark hazel; large, round, heavily lidded, and twinkling with a trustworthy kindness. Her figure was quite slight, with long graceful limbs covered in creamy, peach toned skin. Her beauty was one likened to that the Virgin Mary; resembling a sense compassion, kindness, and humbleness- some of which were qualities she possessed- she did not have the sex appeal or lustful beauty that so many women had.

"Ouch!" She yelped suddenly, catching a knot in her hair.

After untangling the little rat's nest, she set down the brush and pushed her tedious waves back and pulled the veil over her head. Her bangs poked out from underneath the head piece and so she tucked them gently back in place. She looked herself over in the mirror to be sure she was well put together, and left for breakfast.

* * *

Notre Dame was relatively empty that morning. Many people had decided to skip morning mass in order to attend and prepare for Paris' favorite celebration- The Festival of Fools. Soleil Charlotte was not a fan of this holiday. Why would people dedicate an entire day to be silly and foolish? There were already quite a few people in the city that seemed to be celebrating this on a daily basis. She felt there were much more important things to be accomplished; such as helping the less fortunate who were starving and sick. Being foolish would not help their cause.

"Soleil," called a voice from behind her.

She did like being called by her first name- she felt that being named after the sun, people would not take her seriously.

She turned to see her father, the man who had given up monkhood in order to care for her.

"Papa, you know I prefer to go by Charlotte." She replied with a kind smile.

"Why? You are the light of my life!" He teased. "Alright, Charlotte. Come, walk with me- I feel as though we haven't had any quality time in such a long while."

He was right. Charlotte was very focused in contemplation and charity work and they hadn't had a real conversation in weeks. He could understand her dedication to her position as a nun, and though she was not his legitimate child, he always felt a need to be around her, to be sure she was happy. Even as a monk, he never felt as much love and pure bliss as he did with his daughter.

"How was the mass this morning?"

"Quite empty- many people are out preparing for the festivities, I suppose," Charlotte said; a hint of resentment in her voice. "I don't see why we would have to create a holiday based purely on silliness."

"It might not be the most rational of celebrations, but it does bring the people together. They do have a lot of fun."

"I appreciate that it brings people together, but why can't they bond of something more beneficial? A single nunnery cannot care for the entire impoverished class of Paris."

He paused and put his hand on his chin, looking at her quizzically; contemplating the way in which he could explain and help her understand benefits to this holiday.

"Charlotte, who puts on the Festival of Fools?"

"Gypsies."

"And would you say they are impoverished?"

"I suppose."

"Who makes the most profit from the festival?"

Charlotte sighed in defeat.

"The gypsies. I understand your point, Papa."

"I think you should go." He suggested.

"What?"

"You should go to the festival. I think it would be a good learning experience."

"Papa, I can't! I have duties I need to attend to here. I do not think my going will be a better use of my time."

"I insist. I will go have a chat with Mother Superior Greta and tell her you will be attending the festival. Besides, my dear, God's work can be taken outside the church walls."

"Do you recall the last time I went out by myself?"

"Of course, you little imp! You had me worried sick- but you were only seven. I think twelve years might have matured you enough to keep you more careful and alert. Just make me one promise."

"Yes?"

"Promise you'll at least _try_ and enjoy yourself," he said tenderly putting a hand on her shoulder.

Charlotte gave him an unsure look. He knew she didn't want to go, but he also knew exposing oneself to new experiences will allow them to better understand people, and most important, themselves.

"Now off with you!" He shooed her away. "And change out of your habit; you don't want it to get dirty!"

She slowly made her way to the abbey, trying to waste as much time as possible so she wouldn't have to be at the celebration long. When she finally got there, she changed out of her habit and into a long sleeved white dress and layered a beige pinafore over it, then covered her dreary locks with a faded green handkerchief. Catching her reflection in the looking glass, she gave disappointed huff and stormed out of the nunnery and into Paris.

* * *

The streets were busy with people in crazy, colorful costumes and gypsies preforming at every corner. She began to walk around, examining all the decorations, shops, and people made up for the festival.

It was very similar to what she had remembered when she was mischievous little girl- it was full of beautifully displayed food, toys, and clothing- it was a magnificent sight. No doubt Notre Dame was the jewel of Paris, but the change of scenery opened her mind to other types of beauty.

She approached the square where the rest of the city had begun to crowd as the time approached for the most anticipated event- the crowning of the King of Fools. A bouncy tune began to play, and the crowd started singing in unison. Men in black robes began to march raising colorful flags were making their way into a large round space that the audience had made for their arrival. Confused and curious, she slid around people to get a better look.

_Come and join the feast_

_Of_

"Fools!" bellowed a gypsy dressed in gold and purple costume with a violet mask, sliding out from under the black cloaks of the marching men.

The colorfully dressed man was long and lanky, and had a long large nose and tanned skin. His shoulder length black hair was half hidden by an extravagant scruffy purple hat while a sharp goatee graced his chin. He began to sing and dance with a stout, hunched man who had gotten into the center of the circle. His quirky humor and his playful personality made her feel comfortable; that it was okay for her to enjoy herself. He bounced around the crowd continuing to belt the song and dance as though it would be his last opportunity- he was going to give the people a show.

"Hurry, hurry-here's your chance!" he sang as he approached an older man in a large black and purple hat and matching black robes.

"Judge Frollo." Charlotte whispered to herself.

She knew this man better than she would have cared to. Ever since she could remember, he had been coming to the church on a regular basis. But she had never seen him at the steeple, only him going up and down the bell tower, which was completely off limits. In her pre-teens, curiosity got the best of her and she tried to sneak up multiple times, but always had been caught by the judge. Once, she had caught a glance of a boy hunched over a table, but then pulled swiftly back down by thee firm grip of the judge and to her father. He demanded every time that she be punished with a sound lashing, which he would refuse instantly. Both felt being yelled at a bitter old man with dark secrets was punishment enough- as well as a week's worth of cleaning chamber pots.

"See the mystery and romance!" He continued, nudging Frollo knowingly with his elbow.

"Come one-, come a-ll! See the finest girl in France, make an entrance to entrance! Dance La Esmeralda-, DANCE!"

And with a puff of pink smoke, the man was gone, and replaced with the most beautiful woman Charlotte had ever seen. She danced sensuously in a showy red dress; with thick, shiny, raven hair moving with her and almost having a dance of its own; her crystalline aqua eyes piercing the souls of her audience. She teased the judge by climbing on his lap and kissing his nose, but then smashing his ridiculous hat over his face- which made the audience roar with laughter.

As the beautiful woman danced, Charlotte, for the first time in quite a while, was envious. She couldn't figure out why though; beauty and appearance had never been concerns to her. As a nun there was no reason, because she has no one to impress except the Lord- and such petty things were of no importance to him. Deciding now was not the time to contemplate this moment of weakness, she pushed the thought out of her mind and continued watching.

Esmeralda finished her number by taking the spear from a soldier, stabbed it into the stage, and swung her body around the staff until she touched ground, and then bowed her head as she was showered in applause and gold coins.

The gypsy man reappeared and proceeded to sing in the same tune, excited for the next event- the crowning of The King of Fools. Many masked people were pulled up on stage by Esmeralda, including the stout, hunched man she had seen the gypsy man dancing with at the start of the feast.

Esmeralda went to the beginning of the contestant line and proceeded to pull off each mask where the faces beneath twisted themselves to look as ugly as possible. Each was booed and thrown off stage until they came to the last- the hunched man. Grabbing at his face, Esmeralda tried to tear off what she thought to be a false visage, but was indeed his true face. The Esmeralda and the crowd gasped in horror, and people began to panic.

"It's the bell ringer from Notre Dame!" Charlotte had caught amongst a sea of comments.

"No," Charlotte said aloud.

The poor creature covered his face in embarrassment, ready to run.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, don't panic!" Called the gypsy man. "We asked for ugliest face in Paris- and here he is! Quasimodo, the Hunchback of Notre Dame!"

He began to sing again, crowning the hunchback King of Fools. He was carried on a chair to a small platform where the gypsy presented him with a scepter. The main event and the gyspy's drawn-out melody finished, everyone cheered for their new king as confetti rained down in celebration.

Seeing the tears and look of triumph on his face, Charlotte felt very proud and happy for the boy. Being a modest woman, she simply smiled broadly and clapped loudly for his majesty.

Suddenly, a tomato struck his face, and the whole crowd paused in shock. A head of lettuce was thrown next, hitting his shoulder causing him to slip on the remains of the red fruit beneath him; knocking him over. Before she knew it, he was tied down to a wheel on the stage, spinning as he was struck with various foods. He begged for help from his master, but no one answered his plea. This had to stop, even if Charlotte had to do it herself. So made her way to the stage to free the poor thing from his binds and the cruelty that he had been shown.

Before she could get there, the beautiful dancer was already climbing the steps. The crowd went silent, no more things were thrown. She removed a scarf from around her waist and leaned closer to the hunchback, who flinched as she came close. She whispered kind words to him and wiped his cheek.

"You there- gypsy girl," Called Frollo's voice from his seat on the main stage. "Get down at once!"

"Just as soon as I free this poor creature." She responded, pulling out a knife.

"I forbid it!"

And she cut the ropes that held him down in an act rebellion

"How dare you defy me!"

"Well, it appears we've crowned the wrong fool," Esmeralda yelled, picking up the stained crown Quasimodo had been wearing. "Because the only fool I see is you!"

And she threw the crown, which landed at his feet with a comical squeak.

Angry and flustered, he dispatched his guards on the defiant beauty. They approached her on horses, as she counted out the ten soldiers. She pulled a hanky from her large bosom, feigning the grief of her situation.

"What's a poor girl to do?" She sobbed sarcastically. She blew her nose into the cloth, and with another puff of pink smoke, she disappeared.

"Oh, boys!" Called Esmeralda's teasing voice from a basket of props and costumes. And the chase for her began.

The crowd aided in her escape and dampened the guards' pursuit with cruel obstacles. Esmeralda was quite impressive in her get away; she had been able to knock four guards off their steeds by throwing a helmet like a discus at their heads- she even gave a bow, as if it was just a performance for the feast.

As she began to skate on a wooden mobile, Charlotte glanced over at the humiliated judge. His face was twisted with a passionate fury. There was a murderous look in his eyes that made Charlotte quake. If he caught her, Charlotte knew she was going to face a Hell on earth. With this new found concern, she looked back at the gypsy; now on top of the bright red stage cover being twisted in a spiced violet blanket. When the cloth was pulled away, La Esmeralda was gone.

In her absence, dark clouds covered the sky and rain began to sprinkle. Attention was back on the hideous boy back on the platform. After Judge Frollo ordered his men to search for the girl, he approached Quasimodo, a look of disgust on his face. The defeated boy whispered an apology to his cruel master, and limped like a wounded dog back into his sanctuary.

* * *

Alright, friends. I know that this chapter is mostly reiterating the events of the beginning of the Disney film with a nun thrown in- I promise next chapter will have more substance. I'm already working on the third chapter now, and Charlotte is going to put a spin on things. Just lettin' you know. So

R&R if you want more!

Much Love,

Hannah


	3. The Good Samaritan

A/N: SORRY FOR THE WAIT. I HAVE BEEN CRAAAAAAAAAAAZY BUSY.

Okay, so I've changed Charlotte's age to 19. I did this because of feedback and reviewing my description of my character. She doesn't have quite that level of maturity, I found. So I made her younger. :P

If Charlotte gets Mary Sue-ish, PLEASE TELL ME. I really don't want that. D: And because of that, she's gonna be a bit of a whiny b*tch this chapter, because I don't want her to be perfectly happy and chill about everything, because that only happens in Disney movies.

Thank you so much for your reviews, favorites, and feedback. You guys are awesome!

And I'm sorry if you feel forced to write reviews and favorite and junk. Do whatever you want; I just like to know people are reading this.

Critique is always WELCOME.

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Chapter 3: The Good Samaritan

After the shocking and depressing display of the feast had ended, Charlotte clambered up the steps the poor creature had gimped up only minutes prior.

She was mad. Mad that she had gone. Mad that this holiday was so highly celebrated; let alone existed. Mad at the amount of cruelness people could have. Why would her father wish her to go? Maybe it was a sign from God- perhaps she was meant to have done something. But she hadn't. The beautiful gypsy had. Jealousy mixed with the anger and she felt a fire ignite in the pit of her stomach.

"Charlotte, what happened?" asked her father voice as he approached the distraught girl.

"It was awful, Papa. Worse than I could have ever imagined- the bell ringer- the poor boy!" She responded with passion. Her usually peaceful and stoic exterior was beginning to crack.

"Oh, my dear-"

"What a horrid holiday. This should be stopped!"

She felt tears well up in her hazel orbs- she had never felt in such a horrible feeling. In retrospect, the day's events had not been _so_ terrible; except for Quasimodo and the stunningly kind and beautiful gypsy. It was the new emotions she was experiencing- she wasn't used to it. She was accustomed to seeing people in such a poor situation and able to care for them. But she had never seen what they had seen; she had never felt things they had felt. She was far more fragile than she thought.

"I couldn't agree more, Sister Charlotte. Such barbaric festivities should be outlawed." Said a man's voice from behind her.

She knew that voice. It was the deep oozy drawl of Judge Claude Frollo.

_Come now, Charlotte- now is no time to fall apart-time to be an adult. _Charlotte thought to herself. She quickly wiped her watery eyes on her right sleeve and turned to the old judge.

"I'm afraid I spoke too quickly," she started, wanting to prove him wrong; she didn't like that she could possibly have something in common with such a man. "The festival was not so terrible- at first it was quite enjoyable. It was just the way the people treated that poor boy… I hope God can forgive them."

"Don't be so quick to contradict me, Sister. If it weren't for the Feast of Fools, Quasimodo would have never left his tower. He would have never suffered through the cruelness of the general population. His punishment was just; I had told him not to go, and he defied me. I hope God can forgive _him_ for his disobedience."

Charlotte decided to quit the argument. He his points were valid, and she had no rebuttal. Disobedience was intolerable, but the harshness of the punishment she felt was far more than necessary.

"I suppose you are correct- thank you for justification. Now, I must get back to my duties. Judge," She gave a small curtsy which was returned with a respectful nod.

"Please inform me if you happen upon that gypsy witch." He added as he turned to leave.

"Of course," George replied for her. He turned to Charlotte with a relieved look. "My dear, you know better than to contradict the judge- he is not one to be trifled with. At least you stopped before he became too upset. Speaking of which, I've never seen you so distraught. Was it truly so terrible? You've seen people in much worse shape in your service."

Charlotte paused. She had seen worse. Perhaps this was repressed emotion from all of those years of seeing people in such horrendous state. But then again, she had never experienced their sufferings first hand. Or felt such an intense envy over such seductive, exquisite beauty-or any beauty, for that matter. The rational woman that she was, Charlotte needed an explanation for what she was feeling. Was there even a clear excuse for her current state?

"I'm sorry, Papa- you're right. I lost control and overreacted." She finally answered, trying not to look him in the eye.

"It's alright, my sweet. Perhaps you should the rest of the day to relax."

She gave a forced smile and a short nod, and left for a private room of worship. She needed to collect herself- she needed guidance.

The room was small, but decorated with beautiful stained glass depicting the stories of Christ and lined with small rows of pews with plush red velvet cushions. She kneeled at the altar, tightly clasped her hands, closed her eyes, and hung her head.

"Why…Please Lord, help me understand what is happening. I've never felt such…such… passion… such rage."

Her eyes began to fill once again with tears, and she squeezed her eyes tighter together, and a bead of her despair leaked out of the corner of her left eye and it slowly made its way down her long face.

She tried to redirect her thoughts, and came upon the memory of when she had first left the cathedral on her own- and the savior who had lead her back.

* * *

She had been a mischievous little girl, and preferred to play games rather than to go to her lessons. George had been hunting her down to do writing practice, but was actually unknowingly playing the seeker in his daughter's own game of hide and go seek. After a while, she knew her father was very close to discovering her, so she decided she needed a new hiding place.

Spotting the short round figure of Mrs. Juggered- the baker's wife- making its way out of the cathedral, she zoomed over to her and walked beside her, as if she was her child. Before she knew it, she was on the threshold of Notre Dame, while a packed city of Parisians buzzed with activity. She was in awe of the amount of people and noise they made. This was a vast difference from life in the cathedral- and it was at her disposal. She skipped down the steps and into the busy Paris streets.

One could never become bored in such a place. She gazed in amazement upon the beautiful abundance of goodies, clothing, and food displayed by merchants; young, beautiful, women dancing in the streets for coin donations; she even saw a puppet show with a group of other happy and excited children.

After a long day of new and fun experiences, she noticed her small tummy was rumbling with hunger and the shining sun she had been named after was setting. But where was she? Where is the towering cathedral she knew so well? Fear enveloped the child as she paced around the labyrinth of streets, now the seeker in a new game to find her home.

The light of day had vanished, and Charlotte still had not found Notre Dame. She had begged for directions to the magnificent church, but her pleas for help were ignored by the dissipating mass of uncaring citizens. She found a covered alley and slumped against the cold stone then to the even more chilly ground and began to weep; burying her face in her arms.

Minutes later, shards of bright yellow light illuminated through the cracks and crevasses she had left uncovered. She glanced up to see a tall tan boy with a large, long nose and jet black hair holding a lantern over her whimpering form. She recognized him as one of boys at the puppet show- he wasn't part of the audience, but was one of the bards who helped with the production.

"Are you alright, _chéri_?" He asked gently after she lifted her head. "Are you lost?"

She nodded her head and hiccupped. "I-I need to find Notre Dame."

"Well, I know these streets like the back of my hand! Notre Dame is not too far from here." He said enthusiastically, hoping to raise her spirits- knowing that would be his career one day.

He extended his hand to the poor child, who accepted it gratefully with a glimmer of a smile on her lips. "Oi, Papa- I need to go to Notre Dame to drop of a little lost lamb" The boy called to the small group of gypsies he was traveling with, gesturing towards Charlotte.

"Alright, Clopin. Do you want us to come with you?" Called back one of the men; who, she recognized, as the main performer from the puppet show.

"_Non_, it's very close."

And Clopin and Soleil Charlotte began to walk down one of the dark streets with only the now dim light of the lamp. She squeezed his hand tighter in anxiety. He gave her an orange he had left over from lunch earlier to ease her nerves, and tried to get to know her.

"So, what is your name,_ chéri_?"

"Soleil," She murmured. When she was young, she loved her first name, excited to have one so exotic and sweet. Then, she became a serious independent young woman, and did not want people to think her simple or silly for having such a strange name. She wanted people to know her as a woman of strength and maturity. "And you're Clopin?"

" Oui! But what a pretty name- Soleil! But I have yet to see your sunny namesake." He chuckled.

"Why did I runaway like that?" Soleil finally burst out in a sob. "I'm going to Hell for sure- God must hate me."

"Oh, oh, no! _Ma chéri_, no one hates you for what you did, I promise. And if you are going to Hell for running away, I'm bound for the seventh circle!" He laughed.

Soleil looked down at her feet, seeming to find no truth or humor in his attempt to cheer her up. They continued walking until they reached the stone steps of the magnificent home of worship.

"Here's your stop, Soleil-" Clopin started happily until the young girl's long, skinny arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

"You could never go to Hell. You're too good." She cried into his shirt.

"Aww, now there's that sunshine I was looking for! Neither of us is going to Hell, my sweet." He leaned in and gave her a light kiss on the forehead. "Now get along back into the church before God changes his mind!" He joked, giving her a pat as she quickly scaled the stairs.

"_Adieu_, Clopin!" Soleil called to him with a smile and a wave as she pulled open a heavy wooden door.

"_Au revoir__, petite_ _chéri_."

* * *

This memory was one that Charlotte cherished, and thinking about the kind boy made her feel warm inside. The frustration and overwhelming emotion settled with these thoughts, and she felt herself returning to a slightly more peaceful state.

"Amen," She smiled.

And with that, finished up her contemplation and left for the main hall; only to be greeted with another bout of trouble.

* * *

I cliffed the crap out of that hanger, muahahaha.

So Clopin and Charlotte have met before! And it looks like he was Charlotte's childhood crush 3 ~

But then again, in church life, there aren't many options, hahaha.

But even if you grew up in a brothel, he would probably be your childhood crush. He is one fiiiiine bad ass.

R&R, if you like. I know I would like. :]


	4. Bitter Sweet Escape

Quick A/N: I am sorry it's taken forever to update… I've been doing a lot of work, plus, I moved!

Thanks so much for the positive feedback. You guys seriously rock!

As always, critiques and constructive criticism are completely welcome.

* * *

Chapter 4: Bitter Sweet Escape

Another disturbing scene greeted Charlotte as she entered the great hall. She was bowled over to see that the Captain of the Guard and the gypsy Esmeralda were having a vicious duel in the middle of the church. The gypsy had the disadvantage of having only but one of the iron candelabrums for defense, while the Captain wielded his large custom sword. The clash of steel and iron echoed through the cathedral, as Esmeralda was aiming a blow for his abdomen.

"What in Heaven's name!" Charlotte shouted as she hustled towards the battling pair. "You-" she pointed at the guard with a firm index finger "-Leave at once! This is a house of God, this is a sanctuary! How dare you!"

She grabbed his left arm while his right still clutched a very sharp glistening sword, and tried forcing him towards the exit.

"No, please- I meant her no harm-" The captain protested. He sheathed his sword to assure her he came in peace, but Charlotte ignored his gesture.

"Now you're lying, monsieur? I'm quite sure you've committed enough sins for one day. And in a church, no less- the nerve! I will be sure to pray for you."

She continued to boldly haul the armed and potentially dangerous man to the church's threshold, not even considering the fact that he could easily over power and hurt her. Before they could make it to the door, it was swung open and in came Judge Frollo with a hoard of his guards.

"Good work, Captain Pheobus. Now, arrest her!" He hollered, indicating to the beautiful gypsy behind the nun and the captain.

_Mon Dieu! Has all of Paris gone mad?_ Charlotte screamed in her head. She let go of Pheobus and approached Frollo.

"This is a sanctuary, Judge. La Esmeralda is safe from you and your despicable guards here." Charlotte stated calmly.

"She is a criminal! You would protect a gypsy heathen?" He snarled back, proceeding closer. "Where do your loyalties lie, Sister? Surely no woman of God would-"

"Frollo, you shall not lay a finger on anyone in this cathedral!" Boomed the voice of the Archdeacon. "Come Charlotte-" he beckoned to the now furious and offended young woman as he approached the stunned gypsy. "Don't worry, child," He said gently placing a protective hand on her shoulder." Judge Frollo learned long ago to respect the sanctity of the church."

Frollo glared at the Archdeacon with rage; upset that he had brought up his dark past and that he would not be allowed to detain the woman he wanted so badly. But, in cowardice of his fear of God, he turned to leave. His guards were escorted out by Charlotte, the Archdeacon, and Esmeralda's pet kid.

"Charlotte," Pleaded captain Pheobus as she was once again shoving him out of the church.

"Sister." Charlotte corrected firmly.

"Sister," he repeated respectfully. "I swear on my life, harming her was not my intention; I was trying to help her. I knew if she stayed in here, she would be safe- she would have sanctuary. Please, you have to believe me- I was not trying to start a fight."

"You pulled out a sword, and you didn't try to start a fight? You could have killed her!"

"I didn't- she took my sword, and I got it back from her." He paused and added to himself, "I could never destroy something so lovely."

"Why should I trust your word?"

"Perhaps you shouldn't, but I beg that you will."

Charlotte gave him a long soul searching look, and examined his demeanor. His dark eyes were wide and he bit his lip in anxiety, and she decided she would give him the benefit of the doubt; but take caution.

"Very well," Charlotte said finally. "I believe you. But what do you propose we do now?"

"Thank you. I'm working on that- until then, please, just keep her safe."

"I didn't need you to tell me that. I'm a nun, monsieur- a woman of God- it is my duty. Good luck, Captain." And she pushed the door closed, and Frollo- who had apparently lagged behind- was making his way to the exit and towards Charlotte. As they passed each other, they exchanged glares; knowing that a war of the wills had just started.

After he left, Esmeralda ran for the door, and swung it open to hear that Frollo ordered guards to surround the church at every entrance so she had no chance of escape. She slammed it back in its threshold in frustration and dropped to the ground beside her young goat.

Charlotte approached her cautiously.

"You're very brave, you know." She said to the beautiful woman.

"It's not bravery, it's being human." She snapped. "Letting the people torture that poor boy?" She picked herself off the floor, and walked towards her. "He needed to be stood up to! What do they have against people who are different, anyway?"

"That, I cannot say. But many people do not have the kindness and courage you do." She replied as they began to walk together. "One person cannot change the way people are; that is a feat only God can accomplish- though I do wish we could."

"Too bad you weren't at the Festival; we could've challenged him together!" Esmeralda joked.

"Oh, uh- yes, of course." Charlotte smiled back guiltily_. I wish I hadn't been there_.

The gypsy was happy to have quickly made a friend in her new 'prison' - as the judge had called it. She took her leave of Charlotte hoping to have some time to ponder and examine the magnificent church.

Charlotte watched her make her way around the cathedral, and heard her start to sing sadly. Her beautiful voice almost matched her stunning looks. The sickening envy hit her again briefly, but she quickly shooed the thought away, and made her own path in the sanctuary; trying to busy herself by making sure all the candles were lit in order to keep her mind off the overwhelming events of the day. She was ragged with fear, anger, and guilt; and could only pray for relief.

Just then, she heard the sound of a door slamming shut and the sound of wet, hurried footsteps.

"Esme! Esmeralda?!" Called a loud, concerned voice.

Charlotte looked over her shoulder to see the gypsy from earlier in the day; the host of the feast and the one who crowned the King of Fools.

"Can I help you?" Charlotte asked the man as she approached him. Seeing him up close and without his bright colored costume and mask, a sense of familiarity overcame her. Where had she met him before?

"I'm looking for the gypsy 'witch' Esmeralda you have imprisoned here!" He snapped with rage. "I want her freed!"

"I never!-" She began, anger burning in her from so much confrontation. She noticed that she was starting to fray again, and tried to regain a peaceful composure. She cleared her throat. "Monsieur, getting angry will solve nothing. Besides, it is not at all my doing. Judge Frollo and his soldiers are to blame for this. So if you are not here to pray or seek solace with God, you ought to go somewhere else. I've got quite enough to deal with than an over excited gypsy."

"You've got quite an attitude for a nun- very rude indeed!"

"I'm the rude one? Quite the opposite, I must say!" Any and all restraint was lost; she had no patience or tolerance to be so insulted. "You are the one who comes in here ranting and raving to me that I need to free your dear Esmeralda, who is actually safe from harm because of sanctuary! And you don't even know me! Oh yes- also, after you crowned that poor boy the King of Fools, you didn't even attempt to help him when he was attacked and humiliated by the crowd! You are an ass, monsieur!"

"Why you little bi-"

"Bell ringer! What are you doing down here?!" Sounded the voice of Charles- a very devout man who almost lived in the cathedral- pointing at the hunched over man hiding behind a pillar. The voice startled the poor boy, which caused him to knock over a candleholder and scurry back up the bell tower steps. All attention was on him and the jingling bells of Esmeralda's skirt followed close behind.

"Esmeralda!" The gypsy man's voice called after her.

He ran after her, and, not knowing quite why, Charlotte followed him.

After a wild chase, they came to a set wooden stairs and heard the gypsy speaking to the deformed boy. The gypsy was starting up the steps but Charlotte tugged on the left arm of his tunic, causing him to look back at her. She shook her head at him- the poor creature has been frightened enough today by strangers.

He glared at her in annoyance, but descended back down.

"What?" He hissed.

"He's been scared and humiliated all day. Let him have a moment of kindness." Charlotte whispered back. _Thanks to you,_ she added grudgingly in her head.

He knew she was right, though he didn't like that this little 'high and mighty' nun was telling him what to do. He leaned up against a wall and crossed his arms bitterly.

_He's such a child. Throwing a tantrum after what he's done! Esmeralda is so kind… How could they be friends? _She thought as she looked him over. His tall, slender frame was covered in beautiful, tawny skin; a well-manicured goatee and a scalp covered in surprisingly shiny ebony hair; his large long nose suited his tall face and round dark eyes.

"What are you staring at?" the gypsy man snapped at her.

Charlotte blushed and immediately got on the defense.

"Nothing!" she snapped back. "I think we should go up now. It's starting to get dark."

They scaled the stairs and found that the beauty and the beast they had gone out somewhere on the balcony.

"Oh my word," Charlotte breathed, taking in the beauty of the bell tower; the sunset hitting off the little stained glass mobile over a table which displayed what looked like a replication of Notre Dame and the Town Square.

She heard a sharp whistle and looked over at the impatient gypsy gesturing for her to move along.

"You could've gone by yourself." She huffed.

"Wouldn't want you to get lost, _cheri_."

She scowled and followed him outside, to find the two on the roof.

"Esmeralda!" shouted the gypsy to his partner.

"Clopin? What are you doing here?" Esmeralda asked gleefully, running into his arms.

Charlotte froze in disbelief _Clopin? No, no. It couldn't be. _She looked him over again, and an instant recognition hit her.

"I have come to rescue you, ma cheri!" He said heroically, sweeping Esmeralda off her feet.

"But there's no way out- there's guards at every door!" She said seriously as he set her back down.

Quasimodo shyly staggered towards the small crowd. "There is a way… But I can only do it."

Charlotte shook her head and looked at the shy little monster, and overwhelming compassion washed over her.

"How?" asked Clopin.

"I can climb down the tower carrying her and Dajli. Well, she'd have to carry Dajli, really." He said, excited he could help.

"Very good, Quasi! It looks like you didn't need my help after all, Esme. You've already found your knight in shining armor."

Quasimodo smiled at the compliment, and looked over at Esmeralda.

"Let's go."

"I shall meet you back at the Court, _ma cheri_," Clopin whispered into Esmeralda's hair as the embraced in farewell. "Be safe."

"Of course. You be safe to."

They let go of each other, and Esmeralda approached Quasimodo.

He scooped up the beautiful woman as she cradeled her goat, apparently named 'Dajli', and they retreated down the stone walls.

Quasimodo was very talented acrobat, and could move with speed and agility that was hardly human.

"He's quite impressive." Charlotte said aloud.

"Yes, a fine young man indeed." Clopin agreed.

"Is your name really Clopin?" She finally burst out.

"_Oui_… Why do you ask?"

"Just an unusual name is all."

"How so?" He asked defensively, glaring at her. She blushed and looked away; she had no answer for untruthful excuse. "What is your name?"

"So-" She started and stopped abruptly. _No._ She thought_. This is no time for reminiscing over a short lived childhood friendship. Besides, he probably doesn't remember me anyway._ "Charlotte."

"Charlotte. Such a common name." He commented.

Her face turned redder in embarrassment. This was not the reunion she had hoped for if she ever met him again.

"We should leave before anyone finds us up here." Charlotte suggested trying to avoid any more anger directed at her.

"Yes, quite right." He agreed without looking at her.

They descended back down to the cathedral, which was now dark and empty.

Clopin ran to the door and exited; apparently the guards had abandoned their posts. Charlotte snuck back into the abbey, where her follow nuns already sleeping soundly in their beds. She silently changed into her nightgown and got into bed. She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling.

The worst wasn't over yet, this Charlotte knew. When Frollo found out, all Hell would break loose. And there was nothing she could do.

"Forgive me, Lord." She whispered to herself as she flipped on her side and shut her eyes. "But my duties as a nun will have to be put on hold."


End file.
